Escape to the Cotswolds

‘Frankly he was a bit of a bastard. Handsome. Charming. I’ve no doubt he loved Holly, still does probably, and she him, but one woman is never enough for his sort. In the end she couldn’t take it any more and to be honest I’m not sure she’ll ever trust anyone ever again.’

Adam had all the confirmation he needed that any approach to Holly would be rebuffed, even if he could have gotten past the disaster of their first two meetings.

***

When Holly returned to Cuffingham she resumed her voluntary work at the local old folks’ home, something she’d started doing quite soon after moving in with Emma and Tom. She’d spent a couple of weeks unsuccessfully looking for temporary work but this was more because she wanted something constructive to do rather than that she needed an income. Aside from her work at the gallery, helping at a nearby centre was one of the ways she’d filled her time while living in London. She had a gift for it. And it made her feel fulfilled.

There was an arts and crafts room at the home and Holly did what she did best. With a couple of the residents she used modelling clay, warming it in her hands before placing it in theirs and helping them move stiff fingers to form recognisable shapes.

‘I could hardly move my fingers before you came,’ one had said. ‘Now I can’t wait to get in here every day and see what else I can make.’

With others she demonstrated some of the techniques of using watercolours and with those unable to hold a brush she, and they, had a hilarious time using finger paints. There was also a supply of coloured felt for those who could hold a pair of scissors – albeit not very sharp and with rounded ends – together with pompoms, feathers, and coloured paper for pasting onto heavy-duty card. Some rather spectacular collages were created and the walls of the craft room were rapidly becoming covered.

‘Oh but just look at all these trees,’ Holly had gasped on her return after the holidays. ‘You’ve all done so well.’ Before going away she’d cut out Christmas trees in varying sizes. Some of them had holes in. Those with holes had been interwoven with decorations and hung from the ceiling. Others that had been painted or covered in gummed stickers vied for wall space with the collages. Corner to corner across the large room paper chains had been hung, made with care and sometimes with a little pain by the residents. It must have taken them ages and had been finished while she’d been away.

‘We couldn’t wait to see your face when you came back again,’ said one.

‘No, and it was definitely worth waiting for,’ said another.

They were so proud of themselves, as was Holly, and it was unlikely that these particularly seasonal decorations would be taken down any time soon. Her one day a week at the home was the only time, other than when the Carters were at home, that she was able to forget about the loneliness that seemed to creep into bed with her every night in the dark hours. Two weeks after she returned to Cuffingham from Scotland she picked up the keys to her new home.

***

Moving Day! Not most people’s idea of a good time no matter how much the end may justify the means. Holly wasn’t having a great time. Okay, the level of excitement was way off the scale. But though in her mind she’d left almost everything behind – and as far as furniture was concerned she had – the actuality was that there were a lot of things she needed to find places for and for the most part she had no idea where she was going to put them. Most important was her mother’s old pine table. She’d hovered as the removal men lifted it off the van and manoeuvred it into the house.

‘Don’t worry, luv, a few more scratches and dents won’t make any difference. Lovely old piece, it is, but seen better days.’

‘It was my mother’s,’ she’d said, which she’d thought would explain her anxiety while it was being moved, and it did.

‘Know what you mean, Mrs Hunter. My wife’s still got her mum’s old work basket. Means more to her than anything.’

The table went into the extension. There had never been any doubt where it would go because there definitely wasn’t enough room for it in the tiny dining room. Instead all her paintings, and they were many, and all her art materials had been stacked in that otherwise empty room. Her clothes were put in the smaller of the two bedrooms for the time being, the main one comfortably accommodating the new king-sized bed without looking silly. Surprisingly for a cottage it was a decently sized room.

After the removal men had gone Holly went from room to room before twirling around ballerina-style, but with slightly less grace, and shouting ‘Wheeeee!’ into the silence. Then she took a closer look at the furniture that Mrs Foster had left. It would have to do for the time being, and maybe even for ever. Much like her mother’s table it had seen better days but it went well with the old cottage and the artist in her could see the beauty in its lines. She was very happy with it. By the time she’d made up the bed the day was well advanced and she was just wondering what to do next when Emma arrived.

‘Tom said he’d pick up the twins from school so I could come round to see if you needed any help.’

‘Well, the floors need scrubbing. I remember you offering that to me as a high treat when I came to stay with you.’

‘As if. Seriously, is there anything? I really came over to drag you back with me for something to eat. I knew you wouldn’t have even thought about food.’

‘You’re not kidding anyone. What you actually came over for was to have a good nose.’

‘You know me so well.’

‘Pity you weren’t here a bit earlier. You could have helped me make the bed. I know it’s big for one, particularly a little one like me, but it’s a luxury I promised myself after Harry and I split up.’

Holly looked up at Emma. ‘You’re a teacher. You do craft with the kids. Any good at assembling flat-pack furniture?’

‘You don’t catch me out that way. I’ve seen those flat-pack things before. Is it urgent?’

‘No, just a couple of cupboards. They’ve been dumped in the spare bedroom with my clothes but I’m happy to live out of boxes for the time being. In any case, there’s a huge built-in wardrobe cupboard in my bedroom that’ll take most of my clothes. The rest is for storage really and I’m in no hurry to move things from one place to another just for the sake of it. You serious about food?’

‘When was I ever not serious about food?’

‘Then I’d love to. Thank you.’

***

Holly’s kitchen was immaculate but sadly lacking in fundamental requirements – like crockery and cutlery and … well, it was a very long list so next morning Holly abandoned what was left of the unpacking and ventured out in search of a few vital items to add to the kettle and mugs she’d moved in with.

Tourists don’t tend to visit picturesque Cotswolds villages for new saucepans but, while a trip to the local retail park was on the cards in the near future, the general store at Emma’s end of the village would provide all she needed to tide her over. She mooched her way along the high street, popping in and out of shops every now and then to buy some essential and some not so essential items. She loved it that not a single business was one of a chain, something she’d been unable to get away from in London. Part of the joy was not knowing what to expect when she went through the door.

Without transport and the ability to reach and, more to the point, carry things back from outside the village, Holly decided to concentrate her efforts on the things she could do and applied herself for the rest of the day and those that followed to giving the side extension a much-needed facelift. Somewhere along the line ‘when it got too much for me to put things in the loft’ this room had become Mrs Foster’s storage room. It was immaculately clean, the whole house was, but it had a sad, neglected look.

Holly had bought paint, brushes, and stepladder prior to moving in, arranging for them to be delivered with everything else as she had recognised this as a priority. The rest of the house was a bit faded too but it had a warm, lived-in personality. There was no hurry to change anything there. Maybe without the matching roof the room felt like a poor relation. Holly hoped she’d be able to rectify that though she knew it would be expensive and certainly nowhere near the top of her to-do list.

Inside she set to with a will and that was when she discovered very quickly that the painting of walls and woodwork bears no resemblance at all to the watercolours that were her favourite medium. It wasn’t a task she enjoyed but she was pleased enough with the results. Country air and sheer hard work did their job and Holly slept like a baby those first few nights. She was keen for Emma to come round again to see the results and come round she did, the following Friday after school.

‘I like the make-up, Holly. Is this your new look?’

‘Yes, I know,’ she said, turning to the wall mirror in the hall and peering at her face, trying to pick yellow specks off with her fingernail. ‘I thought I’d managed to scrub it all away but it gets everywhere. I don’t think I got this much paint on me the whole time we were at college.’

Emma didn’t have a studio. Being a teacher, she had everything she needed at school. Holly though needed somewhere to work.

‘Let’s have a look then, Hol.’

Holly half dragged her to that part of the house where she now spent most of her waking hours, so glad at last to get hands-on in her new home, falling over her words as they went.

‘It’s nowhere near finished yet, but it’s clean and bright. And I had no idea how big that front window was. With a couple of coats of paint, well, you can see how the light just streams in and reflects off the walls – ét voila.’

Emma stood in the doorway, her mouth a perfectly formed ‘O’.

‘It’s a bit different from when you saw it last, isn’t it?’

‘It’s amazing. No wonder you’re so excited. You must have been decorating day and night. I can’t believe how much you’ve done since I was here last week.’

‘Well, I just couldn’t wait to get it finished, but I’ve discovered muscles I never even knew existed. If I hadn’t taken a day off in the middle to help out at the home I think everything would have seized up by now.’

‘I’d give my right arm for somewhere like this,’ Emma said, the envy discernible in her voice. ‘It’s an artist’s dream. You could get carried away in here.’

‘Well, Emma, for a small fee you can come and use the facilities any time you like.’

‘I can see what you mean about turning it into a retail gallery as well as a studio,’ Emma said, doing a three hundred and sixty degree

turn as she examined the space. ‘It would work really well, but you’ll need more than just passing trade if you want to make a real go of it, particularly as you’re right out on a limb here at the end of the street.’

Emma knew about Holly’s dream; knew she wanted to build a viable business around her passion.